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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23148775">A guide to men's tailoring and falling in love</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Baryshnikov/pseuds/Baryshnikov'>Baryshnikov</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Background Character Death, Falling In Love, Happy Ending, Harry Potter Epilogue Compliant, Like a lot of suits, Love, M/M, Pining Draco Malfoy, Romance, Sexual Tension, Suits</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 10:41:50</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,337</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23148775</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Baryshnikov/pseuds/Baryshnikov</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes love can reveal itself in the strangest places, like in the corner of a tailor's shop looking at a frankly hideous pinstripe suit.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>A guide to men's tailoring and falling in love</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I know that I shouldn't be starting this, but my sister <em>really</em> wanted it and I'm a sucker.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was a Thursday afternoon when Draco was browsing the far left, and somewhat poorly lit, corner of his favourite tailor’s. It was, in his opinion the best time to go shopping, for the crowds were minimal and the staff usually adequately busy with restocking not to bother him. </p>
<p>Of course, it had its drawbacks, the absence of customers, meant a decreased demand for lighting, and for some reason, they decided to keep it to an ‘atmospheric’ minimum. The sort that spread these dark glooms of shadow liberally over the garments in a way that was, in his mind at least, rather unseemly. So often did the shadows gloss over integral details that made him pick out suits that were fundamentally unsuitable for him. </p>
<p>For instance, today such shadows were obscuring the separations between each of the suits that were hanging on the rack, ready to be adjusted. Though of course the problem was exacerbated by the fact that all the suits that Draco was currently viewing were a deep, magnetic, cobalt; the sort of colour that was only visible somewhere between dusk and midnight, and always made his skin glow with an unearthly iridescence. </p>
<p>It was the colour he preferred to wear to Ministry and associated functions, something that distanced him from the sea of navy, that the political crowd all managed to gravitate towards, but still said that he was worth talking to. That was always the balance to aim for; finding the right position between visibility and invisibility, and the art of being noticed but only by the right type of people.  </p>
<p>The combination of his distraction, the insufficient lighting and the rather systemic darkness that was cultivated by the suits themselves meant that Draco walked straight into the back of a living being, and a customer at that, who’d been standing so still for the last five minutes, that he hadn’t even seen them as he’d been browsing.  </p>
<p>“Oh, I do apologise – ” he started, raising his hand in the effect of an apology, though before he could finish that particular sentence, and get on his way, the up-until-then stranger turned around. And that was how Draco found himself, quite suddenly, just a foot away from Harry Potter himself.</p>
<p>“Potter?” Draco said before he could stop the old epithet leaving his mouth, though he should hardly have been surprised, such old habits must have ingrained themselves deep; both into his psyche and his tongue. Particularly when Potter himself seemed to, outwardly at least, be very similar to every time he’d ever seen him before, apart from the fact he was in a tailor’s shop.</p>
<p>The one habitat that Draco had never expected him to reside in.  </p>
<p>Especially when he was looking like <em>that</em>. For Potter was currently wearing a pair of dark sweatpants that had certainly seen better days, and a dark hoodie with his own face on the front, though the back had blended into the suits behind him as clouds blend with a night sky. To be perfectly frank, Draco had never seen anyone look more <em>out of place</em> in a tailor’s shop, and the only reason Potter was probably allowed through the door in the first place was because of who he was. </p>
<p>But before he could ponder that thought any further, Potter spoke. </p>
<p>“Malfoy?” he said, surprisingly cheerful given they weren’t friends, and barely acquaintances. Of course, it wasn’t like he hadn’t seen Potter since they were at school; their sons were good friends, and since both their wives had departed, though, in vastly different circumstances, they’d had a dozen or more meetings on doorsteps, and quidditch pitches, and other public buildings as they’d exchanged children and pleasantries. </p>
<p>But those interactions were always carefully curated meetings; artistically perfected even, to emit a certain impression, and in return to receive a very specific response. For Draco that had always been one of courage and continuum, despite his, in all eyes, rather tragic personal trajectory. For Potter though, it was almost an exercise in modesty; an attempt, however poorly executed, to be seen as just another man out with his children.</p>
<p>So, this was the first time they’d met <em>organically</em> in a very long time. </p>
<p>“What are you doing here?” Potter said conversationally and, apparently, oblivious to the fact they were in a tailor’s shop and there were frankly limited activities that one could partake in, in such an establishment. Clearly, age hadn’t gifted him any additional wisdom. But perhaps the more compelling thing in the circumstances, at least in Draco’s eyes, was the invitation into a conversation, which would have been strange from anyone, but from Potter, made him question his hearing. </p>
<p>“I’m shopping,” Draco found himself replying, somewhat automatically, though maybe the speed of the answer and his willingness to engage was less to do with his partner in conversation, and more to do with the fact Potter was the first person, outside of his immediate family, that Draco had spoken to in – well – long enough that it was almost shameful. He would admit that since Astoria’s death he had become more… solitary, at least, that was how Draco himself put it. </p>
<p>Meanwhile, Scorpius, never one for tactful insight, had labelled him as the local recluse. </p>
<p>Either way, it didn’t matter, as both he and Potter were now standing under the dim glow of the store lights, with a silence gathering like rainclouds between them; and unfortunately, it wasn’t one of those amicable silences of high clouds and old friends. No, this was the awkward, painful, silence that was reminiscent of amassing rainclouds, and of acquaintances who’d never quite managed to become anything more. </p>
<p>But to allow the continuation of empty space of silence was not how Draco was raised; instead, he swallowed down any self-judgement and residual awkwardness, and said, in that same, confident tone he’d always been a master of, “and yourself?” </p>
<p>As he spoke, he stood up a little straighter, his spine clicking as it stretched out; yet another reminder that he was not a young man anymore, and he watched Potter. In particular, he shifted his weight from foot to foot and gripped and regripped the Holyhead Harpies tote bag in his right hand; an accessory surely left behind by his former wife, not that Draco was prone to gossiping, he merely overheard other people doing it. </p>
<p>“Oh,” Potter said, as he dipped his head and hiding a frankly charming smile, the same one he wore to all the magazine interviews. “Umm – I’m looking for – well – I’m looking for a suit actually.” <br/>Even though Potter said those words whilst standing in the corner of a tailor’s shop, Draco still found himself glancing sceptically between the racks of suits all around them, and Potter’s certain, and no doubt singular, chaotic sense of fashion. He was even wearing shoes that were an ungodly incarnate of flipflops.</p>
<p>That being said, if Draco was being honest with himself, which he tried to be these days, the prospect of Potter in a well-tailored suit was not entirely horrendous one, in fact, it probably would have looked rather good. After all, Potter had possessed a certain physical charm about him even in school, and though it had changed with age, it certainly hadn’t dissipated. </p>
<p>That much was obvious in his smile, despite the awful outfit choices. </p>
<p>Draco swallowed; his hands feeling awkward as they hung uselessly by his side, and he touched at a display jacket just to give his fingers to do. He raised his eyes to meet Potter’s again and found himself, quite unintentionally, considering the other thing he knew about Potter. </p>
<p>For Draco wasn’t as ignorant as his son might believe; and though he preferred a more secluded life, he still kept up to date with the society pages of high-class newspapers, and even a trashier selection of obnoxious tabloid journalism that his mother would have a heart attack at the sight of. So, he was perfectly aware that Potter was not only ‘on the market,’ as his mother had used to say, but was, by all accounts, a very good catch. </p>
<p>“I was thinking,” Potter said, interrupting that thought, “that maybe I should go for something like this,” he continued, gesturing vaguely to a navy coloured, double-breasted, pinstriped monstrosity, the sort of which was only worn by vulgar politicians, and those who lacked all sense of taste. It took all of Draco’s willpower <em>not</em> to roll his eyes, because, <em>of course</em>, Potter would manage to find the most hideous suit in here, and actually consider it.  </p>
<p>Potter must have seen his expression, though he didn’t look forlorn, if anything, he looked somewhat emboldened by Draco’s look of disgust. <br/>“Not a good choice?” he said, shifting again and looking sheepishly at the floor, “to be honest, I really don’t know what I’m doing,” he continued, “I’ve never really bought a suit before.”</p>
<p><em>Well that’s obvious</em>, Draco wanted to quip back, but he kept his mouth shut, given that they weren’t friends, and it did rather feel like Potter had just poured his unfashionable heart out, and now it was sitting on the floor between them, flopping like a fish and waiting to be acknowledged. </p>
<p>“Well,” said Draco, now shifting awkwardly himself and pulling at the fabric of the display-jacket, “what’s it for?”</p>
<p>He hadn’t quite had the intention of helping, after all, he didn’t work here. But he liked to think that he reasonably good taste by now, which was something that Potter most sorely lacked, so, perhaps, he could at least give him a vague direction to start heading in. </p>
<p>Potter smiled, brighter again, almost like a puppy, really, and met Draco’s eyes. “My inauguration,” he said, “you know – as…” he paused, trying to find a better job title than the one they both knew he was about to adopt, “…Head Auror, I suppose.”</p>
<p>Ah yes, Draco had read about that promotion, and had let his eyes linger on the picture that accompanied it of Potter in full Auror robes; it was a nice image. The appointment was also one of the few political manoeuvres that he’d really had no trouble accepting, for whilst Potter most likely still had multiple faults, his sense of justice wasn’t one of them. </p>
<p>And it was silly moments like that when Draco was alone in his study that he couldn’t help but wonder whether Potter, and other like him, had ever passed him any thought, or whether he was forever consigned to memory. </p>
<p>But Potter moving to lean on one of the racks and nearly unbalancing it snapped Draco out of that thought; and for a moment they both watched the tall, silver display wobble, before righting itself. <br/>“Then,” Draco started, still watching the display suspiciously, “I’d recommend a warm based charcoal suit,” he said; one that would bring out the warmth in his complexion and would make him blend in with the political crowd, whilst still standing out amongst them individually.</p>
<p>“They're just over there,” he said, pausing to point a couple of feet behind Potter, “and ask the tailor for a natural shoulder, and make sure you button the jacket.” <br/>Those were the tips he’d picked up from his friends over the years, the ones whose build wasn’t as slim and sylphlike as  Draco’s own. After all, it hardly took a tailor to notice, even when he was dressed like that, that Potter was shorter and more muscular than Draco would ever be.</p>
<p>Draco paused for a moment then and chewed lightly on his tongue; a nasty habit he’d never shaken. To be honest, he’d probably already said more than Potter was expecting, and it was rather starting to sound like he’d been planning this outfit for quite a while. But, then again, why stop until you’re done?</p>
<p>He swallowed. “You should wear it with either a green tie and black shoes, or, a red tie and burgundy shoes,” Draco said, “and you’ll look…” he heard himself trailing off, his mouth becoming dry as he tried to form a compliment on his tongue.</p>
<p>When he was in his youth, he would have put it down as being physically unable to compliment someone as disagreeable as Potter, but he wasn’t a child anymore and he didn’t have the luxuries of petty excuses, and so the only reason he could find lurking, so insidiously in the depths of his mind, was that Potter was going to look… rather good.</p>
<p>“You’ll look great,” Draco managed to say eventually, and immediately dipped his head down, staring at the floor, and hoping that the dimness of the light and Potter’s own famous inobservance would save him the embarrassment of flushing in front of him. It was the drawback of being so pale.</p>
<p> Potter was just watching him, well, not quite, he was watching Draco’s breast pocket; his mouth a little open, but still forming itself into a smile, “Godric, you’re good at this,” Potter said eventually, and in a tone that was firmly on the side of amazement rather than creeped out, which was good. </p>
<p>What was not so good though was the new wave of heat that bloomed up from under Draco’s collar as the comment sank in. <br/>“I suppose I’ve had a lot of practice,” he choked out, still looking at the floor, by now his eyes had adjusted enough that he could see the lines of the wood and the small collection of dust along the skirting. </p>
<p>“Umm – look,” Potter said suddenly, and in Draco’s periphery, he could see that he too had dipped his head, so that they were both staring at the floor, “I know it’s a bit much, but you’re the only person I’ve met who knows anything about tailoring,” he paused, his hand gripping tighter at his tote bag again, “so – umm – would mind showing me what you meant by all that?”</p>
<p>There was a silence, followed by them both looking up to meet the other’s gaze.</p>
<p>“Sure,” Draco heard himself saying, after all, what could possibly happen?</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I don't often write Draco, so any criticism is most certainly welcome.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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